


but i already miss you (even as you're lying next to me)

by lostresidentevilpotter



Series: Six Years Later [2]
Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:07:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29535888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostresidentevilpotter/pseuds/lostresidentevilpotter
Summary: After one accusation is leveled at Jeffrey Galanis, the rest come pouring out quickly. So quickly, Leah barely has time to decide if she’s throwing her name out there, too.Or, Leah's POV of "and we are here (but i already miss you)" where Leah and Fatin reconnect six years after the island.
Relationships: Dot Campbell & Fatin Jadmani, Dot Campbell/Mateo, Fatin Jadmani/Leah Rilke
Series: Six Years Later [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170299
Comments: 28
Kudos: 187





	but i already miss you (even as you're lying next to me)

**Author's Note:**

> I had 2(? - maybe don't quote me on that) requests for Leah's POV of "and we are here (but i already miss you)" and shit, I actually made it happen. It was interesting to decide what Leah would focus on that Fatin wouldn't, what Leah would include in her version of events that Fatin wouldn't (or couldn't), so hopefully this fic is different enough to be enjoyable while still being obviously connected to the other fic. Also I feel decent about my midterm, so this is my gift to you today.
> 
> Title is still from Ours by The Bravery

After one accusation is leveled at Jeffrey Galanis, the rest come pouring out quickly. So quickly, Leah barely has time to decide if she’s throwing her name out there, too. Michelle convinces her to do it, and Leah is the ninth woman to accuse Jeff of statutory rape. (Some of the other eight women, though, also accuse him of other things that Leah tries not to dwell on too much.) And once a member of the Unsinkable Eight has accused Jeffrey Galanis of a crime – well, the authorities get right on that. (The tenth girl joins shortly after his arrest.)

And then the news is everywhere, and Leah can’t escape his face. (It’s on the TV in the café that Leah normally grabs coffee from. It’s on the homepage of all the major news sites. They’re talking about him on the radio, on podcasts.) The media can’t stop talking about Jeffrey Galanis’s fall from grace. How could an award-winning, bestselling author do something like this to so many women? And to _Leah Rilke from the Unsinkable Eight_? And Leah hates that she’s singled out as special, just because she had the misfortune of being swept into a fucked up experiment that shocked the world six years ago. The other nine women matter just as much as her, but it’s her face that shows up alongside Galanis’s on the evening news, it’s her name that keeps getting repeated, usually following the phrase _one of the victims, from the Unsinkable Eight_.

Leah’s lounging back on her bed beside Michelle, who’s laying out on her stomach with her nose in her differential equations textbook, when the call comes through. Leah’s phone buzzes on her stomach, and her eyebrows pull together as she lifts it, stares at the name on the screen.

_FATIN JADMANI_

(No. She doesn’t just stare at the name. The photo that pops up with it takes more of Leah’s focus. It’s an old photo, obviously. She hasn’t seen Fatin in, what? Five years? It’s from one of the last times they saw each other in person. It was shortly after the trial, after they _won_ , taken outside of their hotel next to the pool. It’s actually a photo of all eight of them, all grinning widely, but Leah used it for Fatin’s contact picture. Between Fatin’s smile and the way her sunglasses hang haphazardly from the center of her bikini top and the massive hoops in her ears – Fatin’s just radiant. It’d be a shame not to use this photo for her.)

Leah accepts the call on the third ring, after she realizes she’s been staring at the picture of Fatin for too long and now Michelle’s watching her curiously instead of working her way through differential equations. Leah hesitates after accepting the call, Michelle’s green eyes still locked on her. Frankly, Fatin hasn’t said anything either, and Leah knows there’s only one reason Fatin would be calling her after all this time of very minimal interaction between them.

“Fatin?” Leah says. “You there?”

“What – oh, yeah! Hey, girl! It’s been…a while,” Fatin says. She sounds like her usual, cheery self, and it throws Leah off guard for a moment. She inhales sharply, and though she hasn’t forgotten what Fatin’s voice sounds like (that would be hard, considering the amount of Instagram stories that Fatin posts), it’s strange to be directly addressed by her. And as Fatin speaks, Michelle’s still staring at Leah, mouths, _Fatin? What does she want?_ (Leah has never lived down drunkenly confessing to all her roommates that she totally had a thing for Fatin, way back when.) Leah waves Michelle off, gets up from her bed and heads into the hall even though Penelope is sitting out there smoking what Leah is afraid is crack with her loser boyfriend of the week. (Penelope is like Fatin, but instead of just fucking a ton of guys, she actually dates them for a few days first.) “Is this a bad time? Because I can totally call back –” Fatin continues.

“No, it’s okay,” Leah cuts in. “I – sorry, you just caught me a little off guard.”

(That’s an understatement. Leah hadn’t even considered the possibility that the rest of the Unsinkable Eight would reach out to her if she spoke out publicly against Jeff. It makes sense now that Fatin has actually called her.)

“I know we haven’t spoken recently, and that’s totally my fault,” Fatin says. Leah grimaces, because no, it’s really not. She hasn’t exactly been the greatest at reaching out or doing anything more than, like, liking Instagram posts from all the girls. (And sometimes she doesn’t even do that. Leah doesn’t exactly live on Instagram. Grad school kind of absorbs 90% of her life, and the other 10% is taken up by her roommates forcing her to be social.)

“No, I’ve been…it’s not entirely your fault,” Leah replies. Penelope looks over at her, sends her an inquisitive stare, but her boyfriend takes the crack pipe back from her and that sets off an argument, so Leah finally commits to just heading downstairs. “So what’s up?” Leah asks. (As if she doesn’t know, but she’s interested in hearing Fatin’s excuse for calling her for the first time in, like, at least a few years.)

“Oh! Um, see, I actually saw something on TV today,” Fatin explains slowly. “And I just wanted to call to see how you’re doing?”

That’s what she’s going with? Leah would laugh, if anything about Jeff’s arrest was funny. (Besides, Leah figures that Fatin tiptoeing around the subject is infinitely better than Fatin not giving a shit at all.)

“You saw something that made you want to see how I’m doing?” Leah questions. She doesn’t really want to play this game where they dance around the subject or do the awkward thing where they try to catch up and talk about the most boring aspects of their lives. So she cuts right to the chase. “It’s because of Jeff, right? It’s because they arrested him.” ( _Because I accused him, too, so the authorities finally went after him even though eight other women had already filed civil lawsuits and complained to the police._ )

“Yeah,” Fatin admits. “I was just afraid maybe…I don’t know. I thought I’d check in. Just to be safe.”

Leah softens at that, knows she should cut Fatin some slack. (And maybe it takes Leah a few moments to get herself together, to think of something to say back. The brief silence, though, isn’t actually uncomfortable. Silence between Leah and Fatin has never really been truly uncomfortable, at least since, like, the second week on the island. They just kind of get each other.)

“I appreciate it,” Leah says. (She can’t think of anything better, can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound horribly gross or mushy.) “But I’m fine. Really.” (And she mostly is. Her roommates – her _friends_ , even if Penelope is a literal crackhead and Harper lets her boyfriend basically live with them rent-free and Avery’s failing all her classes because she plays Xbox 24/7 and Victoria blasts music in her room way too loudly way too late into the night and Michelle might actually be secretly in love with Leah, but still, they’re Leah’s _friends_ – have her back. And they’ve been nothing but supportive since she decided to go for this, to try to find justice if not for herself then for the other nine women.)

“Are you sure?” Fatin blurts. “Because, like, it’s totally cool if you aren’t fine.”

A smile tugs on the corners of Leah’s mouth, and she presses her fingertips against her lips as if that’ll stop it from happening. (Even after five years, Fatin still gives a shit.) Her eyes wander over to the TV, to where Avery’s sprawled out on the couch with the Xbox controller in her hand, shouting into her headset about how her teammates didn’t save her ass or something.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Fatin says so quickly that it almost makes her sound _panicky_. Unsure. It’s strange, to hear something like that from _Fatin_. “I mean, you can –” Fatin starts to backtrack, and Leah figures she should shut her up before she embarrasses herself.

“Fatin,” Leah says. And in the next instant, Avery shuts the game off, switches from the Xbox back to regular TV, to the news. To the mugshot of Jeffrey Galanis, posted beside the picture Leah took for her fucking student ID. (How in the _hell_ did they get that picture of her?) And Leah inhales sharply, shakily, because it’s so unexpected.

Avery realizes Leah’s standing there, realizes what’s on the screen. “Shit,” Avery hisses, and she begins the hunt for the remote, but Leah turns her back to the TV, squeezes her eyes shut.

“It’s okay,” Leah manages to say. “I appreciate the call. Really do.” (Her voice doesn’t waver _that_ much, and she’s sort of proud that it doesn’t break, either. Even with her eyes closed, though, she can still see that motherfucker’s face. Right next to hers on the screen. Always right next to hers. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair that she’s the one that garners all the attention. It’s not fair what’s happening, but she has to tell herself that maybe it’ll all be worth it if they can get his ass locked up.)

“So you’re not, like, flipping out?” Fatin asks. Fatin makes a small sound in the back of her throat, like maybe she’s regretting the way that question came out. (But it’s so Fatin, and Leah kind of appreciates the fact that Fatin’s willing to just be straightforward with her.) Leah hears the TV go off behind her, hears the chatter about Jeff’s charges go silent, and she figures she might as well just tell the truth.

“Well, honestly, I can’t say I’m doing amazing,” Leah says. (Maybe six years ago – shit, maybe even five years ago – Leah would’ve offered up something more than that. Maybe like actual details. Maybe she’d be able to say _yeah, you know, I’ve just been crying myself to sleep in my friend’s bed for the last few night, but no big deal, right?_ and make it sound like a joke even though it’s 100% true. But she’s not sure how Fatin might react to that, and she’s not willing to find out.)

“Right, no, of course,” Fatin says. There’s a brief pause, and Leah waits it out, knowing instinctively that Fatin’s about to say something else. “If you’re not busy this weekend, you should totally come visit me and Dorothy.”

(Okay, whatever Leah was expecting, it wasn’t anything even remotely close to _that_.)

“What?” slips out of Leah’s mouth before she consciously decides to answer.

“Yeah!” Fatin exclaims, and _shit_ , she sounds seriously excited. Leah glances over at the stairs as Michelle comes down them, fidgeting with the hoop pierced through her lower lip, eyebrows raised at Leah. “Seriously,” Fatin continues, _still_ sounding pretty damn ecstatic about this whole idea. “We’ll come pick you up and take you home. Maybe I’ll even give up my bed for you. Come on. This is, like, long overdue.”

(Maybe it is. And maybe it should stay that way.)

“Fatin, that’s a long drive –”

“Nope. No excuses. Unless you have, like, actual work to do or something,” Fatin argues. And Leah _always_ has work to do (but she doesn’t say that). There’s _always_ some kind of assignment or thing that her friends want to drag her to. (But maybe this is the perfect way out of Penelope’s plans for this weekend, because it’s definitely the kind of thing that could get them arrested, and Leah’s not looking forward to bailing Penelope out _again_.)

“Okay,” Leah agrees. (So all it takes to agree to spend a weekend with Fatin and Dot is the idea of not having to bail her druggie friend and her friend’s boyfriend out of the county jail again. Nice. Maybe Leah should rethink her living situation. And she would, if she didn’t, like, actually love her dumbass friends so much.)

Right as Leah decides to just hang up without saying goodbye, Fatin does, too. Leah slips her phone into her back pocket, nearly jumps out of her skin when someone grabs her by the shoulders. (Michelle. It wouldn’t be anyone else. Penelope’s still upstairs smoking crack. Avery’s making a mess in the kitchen. Harper’s upstairs with her boyfriend – probably fucking him, but they haven’t actually been caught by anyone yet. Victoria hasn’t been home since last night, and if she hadn’t been answering her texts all day, maybe Leah would think she’s dead in a ditch somewhere.)

“Jesus!” Leah says, slipping out from Michelle’s grasp as Michelle cackles. “Why do you have to do that?” Leah grumbles.

“It’s too fun not to, Lee,” Michelle replies. “You’re so fucking jumpy. Shit. Probably because you were _talking to Fatin_.”

“I thought you were drowning in homework,” Leah snaps.

Michelle shrugs, gathers her recently bleached hair in her hands and ties it back. “I’m always drowning in homework. What else is new? I’d _much_ rather hear about your call with _Fatin Jadmani_.”

“Don’t – don’t say her name like that,” Leah says.

“Like what?”

“You know like what,” Leah retorts. “Like – suggestive or whatever.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. “Please. I know you wish you’d gotten your chance to bang her when you were stranded on that island.”

“I – fuck off.”

“You missed a major opportunity,” Michelle says. She smirks. (The worst part, though, is the way Michelle’s eyes flick from Leah’s eyes all the way down to where Leah’s shorts cut off, then back up.) “Fatin is hot as fuck.”

Leah’s jaw clenches, but Michelle heads into the kitchen, yelling for Avery to make extra of whatever she’s cooking. 

“Aves! Tell Lee that Fatin’s the hottest of the Unsinkable Eight,” Michelle shouts.

“Nah, man. It’s Toni,” Avery replies. “She gives off major lesbian jock vibes.”

“Because she’s literally a lesbian jock,” Michelle counters. “Yawn.”

(And this conversation – this debate, really – is nothing new.)

*

Leah tells everyone _multiple times_ that Fatin and Dot are showing up on _this_ day at approximately _this_ time, and she tells them all to make themselves scarce. Somehow, she should’ve anticipated that they wouldn’t listen. While Harper (and her boyfriend – Chad), Penelope (and her boyfriend – whose name Leah hasn’t bothered to learn because Penelope will probably dump him after this weekend), Victoria, and Avery all group together in the living room, Michelle makes a beeline for the door when someone bangs on it as Leah’s finishing packing her last few items in her bedroom.

(And it would be totally undignified for Leah to yell at Michelle to stop, because Leah can already hear the front door opening.)

“Oh, shit! I guess you’re here for Lee,” Leah hears Michelle say (as if Michelle doesn’t know _exactly_ why Fatin and Dot are on their front porch, as if Leah hasn’t been telling them all _for days_ not to do anything stupid).

“Lee? You mean Lee-uh?” Fatin asks sharply, and her voice carries easily into the house, up to Leah’s room. (Leah packs faster.)

“Right, right,” Michelle says. “Yeah, she’ll just be a minute.”

(If Michelle could’ve just fucking waited for Leah to get her shit packed and get downstairs – Leah’s kind of pissed that Michelle blatantly ignored her request to _not_ do anything stupid.)

“So…?” Leah hears Dot say, right as Leah’s pulling her bedroom door shut. (She hurries to get her backpack on her back, hauls her duffel bag along.)

“Sorry,” Michelle says. “Lee didn’t say her friends were hot.”

Leah could fucking _scream_. (Oh my _God_. Why – _why_ – would Michelle say that? First of all, everyone knows who the Unsinkable Eight are. Leah wouldn’t have to say her friends are hot when anyone can literally Google them and find out for themselves. Michelle said that just to get on Leah’s fucking nerves. And damn it, it’s working. Usually does.) But Dot and Fatin both laugh, and Leah forces herself to relax as she rushes down the stairs.

“Michelle?” Leah says, through her teeth, but she tries very hard not to sound irritated. The smirk Michelle sends her, though, tells Leah that Michelle _knows_ that she’s irritated, that Michelle did this _entirely_ on purpose, just to get under Leah’s skin. And Michelle knows Leah is pissed, knows Leah is trying not to look pissed.

“I was just leaving,” Michelle says. Her eyes lock with Leah’s, and on her way by, she mouths _get it_. As Michelle disappears into the living room, Leah hears all her friends erupt into giggles. (Those fucking idiots. She reminds herself that she loves them, even if their goal is to embarrass her as much as possible.) And Leah finally turns her eyes toward the open doorway, to where Fatin and Dot wait on the porch. It’s hard not to notice the difference that five years has made. (The way Dot’s hair is longer; the way Fatin’s is shorter, hitting at her shoulder. The dark eyeliner around Dot’s eyes. The lack of writing on Fatin’s tank top – and her lack of a bra, but yeah, Leah shouldn’t notice that. The ink winding its way up Fatin’s leg, plus the other tattoos scattered across her skin. And even Dot’s arms are home to numerous tattoos.)

Dot’s still wearing her cargo pants, and Fatin still has overly large hoops in her ears, so at least not everything has changed.

“Dorothy, don’t be so rude,” Fatin says, smacking her hand against Dot’s shoulder. (And that brings Leah back to Earth.) “Get Leah’s bag.”

“You know, I don’t remember agreeing to be your personal bitch when we moved in together,” Dot replies. And they’re the same as ever. When Dot holds her hand out, Leah doesn’t hesitate to hand her duffel bag over, can’t fight off a smile as Fatin exaggeratedly rolls her eyes at Dot.

“Wow, so it turns out I really missed you guys,” Leah laughs.

“Oh, you missed our bickering?” Fatin questions. (Leah did, just didn’t realize it until right now.) “Trust me, there’ll be plenty more to come,” Fatin promises. She raises her arm, wiggles her fingers at Leah. “Come on. Bring it in. You know you want to.”

Leah rolls her eyes. Leave it to Fatin to sound so suggestive about something as simple as a hug. Leah intentionally goes low and wraps her arms around Fatin’s waist so Fatin doesn’t have to try to hug her around the backpack. Leah feels Fatin lean up on her toes before Fatin locks her arms around Leah’s neck. And Leah thinks (but she can’t be certain) that Fatin is wearing _cologne_ instead of perfume, but whatever she’s wearing, it smells pleasant. And expensive. (Leah expects no less from Fatin.)

Leah feels Fatin jolt against her as Dot pokes Fatin in the side, says, “Hurry up. It’s a long drive back.”

(It hasn’t really been that long, right? Like, a few seconds, maybe.)

“Right,” Fatin says, and she pulls away from Leah. Leah turns and hugs Dot quickly, doesn’t even think about doing it, but Dot seems a little surprised. And from there, Leah pulls the door shut behind her, follows Fatin and Dot to the black Jeep Gladiator parked at the curb. (The vehicle looks brand new. Probably is, knowing Fatin. Dot’s the one that gets behind the wheel.)

And once they’re on the road, the words start flowing easily. Leah explains how she’s living with five of her friends (and lists her complaints about each of them, because she thinks it’ll get a laugh out of Fatin and Dot – and it definitely does). Leah talks a little about her grad program, just because Dot asks how it’s going and seems genuinely curious about Leah’s academic life. And Dot talks about the job she got (even though they really don’t need the money, but Leah can’t bring herself to ask) and complains about living in L.A. and tells Fatin to shut the fuck up whenever she tries to interrupt. (And Fatin really doesn’t say much about herself at all, really only speaks to mess with Dot.)

Fatin dozes off after the first couple hours, slumped down in the seat with her shoes braced up on the dashboard, arms crossed over her chest. Dot takes that as the opportunity to ask Leah if there’s something specific she wants to listen to, and Leah just says, “Anything but the news, please.” So Dot finds some music, and that alleviates the need for them to carry a conversation until they reach the apartment complex, until Dot shoves Fatin’s feet off the dashboard in order to wake her up.

As Leah’s climbing three flights of stairs alongside Fatin (Dot having rushed right on up without them), Fatin says she’s having a drink, and honestly? Sounds like a great idea to Leah, unless –

“Please tell me you have something other than straight vodka,” Leah jokes. (She hasn’t drank vodka since the island and has no desire to start now.)

“There’s no vodka allowed in our apartment,” Fatin assures her. When they get inside the apartment, Fatin goes straight to harassing Dot about being a bad host, and Leah can’t help but to laugh at them. (God, she really did miss this. How could she not know that she missed them so much? Why did it take until she was actually around them again to be slapped with that feeling? How does Leah already regret not staying in touch more when Fatin and Dot are literally right here in front of her, right now?)

Then Fatin takes Leah’s wrist, starts overdramatically giving her a tour of the apartment. They’re standing in the kitchen, but Fatin still points out where everything is. (“Help yourself to anything in the fridge or pantry. Plates are here. Glasses there. Silverware. Um, yeah, just feel free to, like, go through all our shit. We’ve got nothing to hide.”) Somehow the apartment is both exactly what Leah would expect from Fatin and Dot but also nothing at all like what she expected. Everything is neat, organized. There’s a seamless blend of their two styles, reflected in their choice of furniture, the colors of the walls, the floors. Everything is practical but still stylish. And as Fatin leads Leah into her own bedroom, as Leah’s eyes roam around, take in the photographs – mostly of Fatin and Dot, but there’s also that one picture of the Unsinkable Eight at the hotel after they won in court – on the wall, Leah starts to wonder what exactly is going on between Dot and Fatin.

Leah’s eyes fall on the cello case in the corner of the room. (And she’s not intending on asking. What Fatin does in regards to playing or not playing the cello is none of Leah’s business.) Fatin seems to notice, quickly says, “Hey, I love the whole glasses look you’ve got going on. So wait – could you not see the entire time on the island?”

Leah raises her fingers to the glasses on her face; honestly, she’s had them for so long by now, she kind of forgets she wears them sometimes. (Forgets that Fatin isn’t used to seeing her in glasses.) “No, um, I see fine,” Leah admits. “They’re mostly for reading, but –”

“But you wear them fulltime for the aesthetic, right?” Fatin says. “It’s cool. You can say it.”

Leah grins, and she doesn’t know why, but she feels her face heat up. (She can’t let Fatin get away with that.) “Yeah, well, apparently you can pull off any hairstyle you want,” Leah says, and _damn_ it, she blushes a little harder. (She’s never really been great at handing out compliments.) “I’ve seen your posts.”

“You’ve _liked_ my posts,” Fatin points out, and for whatever reason, Leah laughs along with her. Maybe it releases some of the tension in the room, but it doesn’t matter, because Dot shouts for them to come join her, and that’s what they do after Leah assures Fatin that she wants to stay up with them. (Except she makes the mistake of saying _I’m a graduate student. I think I’ll be okay_ and that immediately invites Fatin to tease her.)

“ _Graduate student_ ,” Fatin says. “You fucking nerd. And that’s not even counting your glasses.” (Apparently Leah’s going to hear about her glasses for the entire weekend.)

“You just said you liked them,” Leah argues.

“Oh, I totally do,” Fatin says. “They really suit you. You look good.”

(And Fatin – as crazy as Leah thinks this sounds – almost sounds _nervous_? Just a tiny bit. Like, there’s a miniscule waver in the confidence Fatin usually projects.)

Leah hums, nods, says, “Yeah. You too,” without even thinking about it because she’s too hung up on whether or not Fatin seems unsure of herself. (Because it was just, like, a flash, and then it was gone, replaced with Fatin’s typical borderline-arrogant smirk.) Fatin’s smirk slides as the words leave Leah’s mouth, but Leah lets it go, because Fatin immediately leads them out to the living room, grabs them some beer, and steers Leah to the couch.

Fatin drops down right beside Dot, almost on her, and then turns and unceremoniously dumps her legs into Dot’s lap. Leah lowers herself down at the other end of the couch, watches the way Dot doesn’t even react to this. (Her eyes don’t leave the TV.) Dot just rests her arms against Fatin’s thighs, takes another sip of her beer. There’s a familiarity between them, a level of comfort that maybe comes with just living together for five years or maybe comes from –

(Okay, so. Leah is almost positive Fatin and Dot are, like, a thing. She doesn’t know why Fatin wouldn’t have announced it, but hey, maybe they have reasons to keep it on the low. Who is Leah to judge? But it’s just one more reminder of how much they’ve drifted – how much they’ve _changed_ – even if shit still feels natural between them all, thanks to their shared experience on the island.)

*

Dot turns in for the night earlier than Leah anticipates. On Dot’s way out of the living room, as she’s passing behind the couch, she pushes her hand into Fatin’s hair and shoves Fatin’s head forward (playfully), snickering to herself as Fatin exclaims, “Hey! Fucking rude, Dorothy!”

“You love me,” Dot replies. “Goodnight, Leah. Thanks for coming out. Don’t let Fatin be a dick to you. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” Leah says faintly. Dot disappears into her bedroom, shuts the door behind her. Fatin combs her fingers through her hair, fixing what Dot messed up. There’s still a reality show on the TV, but Leah has lost track of what’s going on. She watches Fatin down the rest of her third beer and get started on a fourth. And the curiosity is killing Leah, so she decides to just fucking ask. (But she doesn’t think through how she wants to phrase the question first, and she blames that on the alcohol. It occurs to her that maybe they aren’t dating, per se. Maybe it’s just, like, some friends with benefits shit, but Leah on realizes this as she’s already speaking.) “So, how long have you and Dot been, uh…together?”

“Together?” Fatin says blankly. “You mean like how long have we lived together or what?”

Leah hesitates. “I meant more like –” (Like…what? Leah doesn’t know how to finish.)

Fatin grabs onto Leah’s arm, fingers digging into her bicep. Fatin’s eyes widen, and her face splits into a wide grin. “Oh my God,” Fatin laughs. “You totally think Dorothy and I are, what? Fucking? Oh my _God_ , or did you think we’re _dating_? Oh my God, _Leah_. Leah.”

Leah can’t help but to look a little indignant. (Can Fatin seriously not see how it looks like she and Dot might be together?) “Well, can you blame me? Look at you two. You’re acting all, like, coupley and shit,” Leah argues.

“Yeah, we aren’t dating,” Fatin assures her. (Leah finds that hard to believe still.) “See, I _knew_ people would think something was up. She’s got to stop wearing those cargo pants, I swear.”

(Okay, except it dawns on Leah that Fatin wouldn’t bother to lie. If she was with Dot, Fatin 100% would’ve just owned up to it. Probably would’ve told Leah too much information about their sex life for good measure.)

So if Fatin’s not with Dot, and she hasn’t mentioned anyone else – or even mentioned orgasms yet – then…what has she been doing? And that’s exactly what Leah asks her. “So what? If you’re not with Dot – what’ve you been up to?”

“Up to?” Fatin says, smirking. “You mean who have I been fucking?”

“Um – no, not really?” Leah says. (Except, yeah, kinda?)

The question doesn’t bother Fatin in the slightest. “Actually, I kind of – I don’t know, stopped fucking random strangers? Not completely, but – I don’t know. Shit’s been different these last few years.”

“Right,” Leah says. Without even thinking, she pulls her glasses off and hooks them on the collar of her shirt then pulls her hair free of its bun, runs her fingers through it. (It’s not lost on Leah, the way Fatin’s eyes linger on her. But she’s had two beers, and she’s tired, and she kind of doesn’t want to analyze it right now. And shit – sometimes Leah really can see the progress she’s made in therapy. Six years ago, the small little action of Fatin’s eyes flicking down to the glasses hanging off her shirt would’ve kept Leah awake all night, overthinking. Especially because maybe her thing for Fatin from, like, literal years ago hasn’t totally dissipated. And Fatin, somehow, is even hotter than before, but she doesn’t seem any different.)

“My life’s pretty boring now, actually,” Fatin continues. “Well, as boring as it can get when you’re living with Dot.”

Leah nods, eyes drifting over to the TV, to the reality show. She startles when Fatin grabs onto her wrist, tears her eyes away and locks them onto the solemn expression on Fatin’s face. But Fatin doesn’t speak, just studies Leah in a way that’s sort of unsettling. “What?” Leah says.

“How are you?” Fatin asks. “Like, really? How’ve you been doing?”

Leah knows exactly what Fatin’s trying to ask without actually asking it. So Leah shrugs, gently pulls Fatin’s hand off her wrist. “I’m fine,” Leah says. (And it’s not a complete lie. She really is fine, has been since she first got into the Jeep. But, like, on a deeper level? Yeah, the whole thing with Jeff getting arrested has shaken her. Finding out at least nine other women went through the same thing – if not something worse – than she did? Fucking crushed her. But how does she say that to Fatin after five years of minimal interaction?)

“Come on. Don’t be a mysterious bitch about it,” Fatin says. “Just tell me like it is, okay? We almost died together, multiple times. I think we can at least be honest. It’s just you and me.”

( _It’s just you and me_. Why does that feel…intimate? No, forget it.)

Leah sighs, says, “Really, though,” then looks Fatin in the eye before adding, “I’ve been doing fine. At least I was until that news broke.”

“It wasn’t just you.”

“It wasn’t just me,” she agrees, and her voice breaks ever so slightly. (Damn it.) “It’s kinda funny when I look back at it, you know? How I thought I was so fucking special, but he fucked up the lives of, like, what? Nine girls? Well, ten if you include me. But he had me thinking I was different. Special. I don’t know.”

“You are,” Fatin says. “Special. But not because of anything to do with him.”

(Leah doesn’t particularly enjoy the warm feeling that spreads outward from her chest.) Leah nods, says, “Sure, Fatin,” because she’s not sure what else she could say.

“I mean, it really looks like you’ve built a whole-ass life for yourself,” Fatin points out. “Living with a bunch of _women_ , and, like, being all intellectual and shit.” Fatin reaches over and flicks Leah’s glasses. “Even got yourself a pair of nerd glasses. Seems like success to me.”

Leah cracks a smile, struggling not to, like, actually cry in front of Fatin. “Thanks, Fatin.”

“Oh, anytime. You ever need a confidence boost, you know who to call.”

(Leah doesn’t have anything to say to that, either, and she kind of wants out of this conversation now.) “Sorry to, uh, ruin the fun, but I think I’m gonna turn in for the night,” Leah says. Except she feels bad about kicking Fatin out of own bed, but Fatin won’t let her sleep on the couch, and it has to turn into a whole thing, doesn’t it? And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe Leah’s just tired of arguing, but she finds herself agreeing to just share the damn bed with Fatin.

And that seems to catch Fatin off guard – and Leah takes some pleasure in that. It’s not the first time today that she’s thrown Fatin off her game. Leah blames it on the fact that it’s been five years since they’ve been around each other. At least, she does at first. It doesn’t take long for Leah to figure out that she seriously miscalculated whatever’s going on in Fatin’s head. But between the way Fatin’s eyes linger on her, always just a few seconds too long, and how oddly jealous Fatin sounds when she emerges from the bathroom and implies that Leah’s texting, like, a possible _boyfriend_ (or girlfriend – not that Fatin would necessarily know), Leah knows something is up. (And she doesn’t have to overthink it, doesn’t have to convince herself that she’s just seeing what she’s hoping to see.)

“It’s just Ian. Sometimes he can be funny, believe it or not,” Leah says when Fatin makes a comment about who she might be texting. (And it’s a lie. A total lie. She’s texting Michelle’s drunk ass, because Michelle always drunk texts her, but for some reason, Leah doesn’t want Fatin to know that. Fatin seemed to have something of a problem with Michelle in the, like, two minutes they were around each other. It’s a stupid thing to lie about, maybe. But it doesn’t really matter because Avery texts Leah to let her know that they all made it home, so if Leah doesn’t respond the rest of the night, it’ll be fine.)

Leah makes sure Fatin’s not going to try to pull some shit and sleep on the couch before she heads into the bathroom to get ready for bed. She doesn’t even think that maybe Fatin will change with the door wide open, but when she steps into the bedroom, that’s exactly what’s happening. Leah skids to a stop, her eyes falling on the delicate anchor inked into the center of Fatin’s back. And she doesn’t get a great look at the tattoo, but it’s strangely familiar, and Leah immediately places it as the same anchor that Dot has tattooed on her arm.

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” Leah blurts. Fatin finally gets her shirt all the way on and spins around to face Leah.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Fatin says. “I’m the one that left the door open. Besides, I did sort of waltz around in next to nothing during, um, our time together.”

Leah smirks, can’t help herself. “Yeah, I remember,” she says.

“So you noticed?” Fatin teases.

Leah laughs. “Shut up.”

(The look on Fatin’s face is rather smug, but her eyes refuse to stay on Leah’s face, can’t seem to _not_ rake their way down Leah’s body. Six years ago, Leah might’ve chalked that up to just, like, Fatin being Fatin. Maybe she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. But this is at least the third time today that Fatin has overtly checked Leah out. And Leah’s getting really good at spotting that sort of thing, because Michelle does it all the fucking time.)

Leah waits until she’s in the bed with Fatin before getting confirmation that Fatin and Dot do, in fact, have matching tattoos. And Dot also has a _boyfriend_ that no one bothered to mention, and for whatever reason, as Fatin goes on about Dot’s boyfriend and how tragic it is that Dot’s actually straight, the floodgates break. Leah doesn’t quite know exactly what does it. (Maybe it’s the alcohol added to the stress of the last few weeks, and maybe hearing about Dot’s hot boyfriend triggers Leah to think about Jeff Galanis, who is currently in a jail cell as he awaits trial. And Leah’s going to have to get in front of a room full of people and spill everything that happened and –) Well, Leah doesn’t exactly know how she makes the logical leap from Dot’s boyfriend to Jeffrey Galanis, but it happens, and now she can’t hold the tears back.

Fatin shifts closer, murmurs, “Leah. Hey. It’s okay.”

Fatin doesn’t touch her. She reaches out, but she doesn’t make contact. (Fatin hesitates.) It’s strange to think this is the same woman than had no qualms about hauling Leah’s ass up off the damp sand after she tried to escape via the ocean, the same woman that held Leah until the pills knocked her out. And that’s where Leah’s mind goes next. Back to the island, to the day she nearly drowned (but didn’t, thanks to Rachel). It’s one of Leah’s clearest memories from the island, surprisingly. The way Fatin pulled her up from the sand (and Leah was just dead weight, and even though she’d expressed her intent to go back in the water, she was out of energy). The unbearably soft look on Fatin’s face, in her eyes. (And for just a moment there, Leah can admit, she thought about kissing Fatin. And she was pretty sure Fatin would let her, but Leah knew it wouldn’t be for the right reason, so she didn’t even bother.)

Leah doesn’t think twice about collapsing into Fatin, holds onto Fatin until she cries herself out (still isn’t quite sure what exactly she’s crying about). And when Leah wakes up, a few hours later, she realizes she’s still sleeping on Fatin. (Oops.) She rolls to the other side of the bed, falls asleep moments later. Forgets it ever happened in the first place.

*

Fatin’s still passed out when Leah wakes up in the morning, but when she walks out of the bedroom, Dot’s awake, seated on the couch with a guy that can only be her boyfriend. (And shit. Fatin was right. He’s hot.)

“Um. Hi,” Leah says. “Sorry, I –”

“You’re good,” Dot interjects. “Leah, Mateo. Mateo, Leah. We know each other from the island.” Leah flashes Mateo an awkward smile, raises her hand in greeting as he smiles back and nods. “How long should we give Fatin to sleep?” Dot questions. “We all know that bitch is gonna take at least three hours to get ready, so I’m thinking like we wake her ass up at nine?”

“Sure,” Leah agrees. And thankfully, Dot assures Leah that she’ll handle waking Fatin up, so Leah heads into the bathroom to get ready for the day. (She was promised the full L.A. experience, after all.) When Leah steps out of the shower, she puts her bra and underwear on then realizes she left half her shit in Fatin’s bedroom. (She could put her shirt and pants on before she heads out, but she kind of doesn’t care? What does it matter if Dot and her boyfriend see her in her undergarments for, like, five seconds?) Except when Leah steps out of the bathroom to get her shit, Fatin must not be paying attention, because she heads right on in, flinging clothes off as she goes.

Dot’s eyes land on Leah as the shower starts back up, and Dot nods to herself. “Right. That dick couldn’t wait for you to finish, could she?” Dot says. (“Don’t stare at her,” she adds to Mateo, pressing her hand over his eyes even though he was very pointedly looking at the TV.) “Hey, Fatin!” Dot bellows, startling Leah.

“I’m still in the shower!” Fatin yells. (She’d left the door open, so really, she’s only yelling over the sound of the running water.) “Can’t you hear the water running?”

“Yeah, well you went into the shower before Leah was done in the bathroom, dickhead!” Dot shouts. She gets up, goes to poke her head into the bathroom before she adds, “And you left the door open, so I’m giving her permission to come in.”

Leah’s eyebrows raise. Honestly, she could just snatch her pants and her shirt out of the bathroom and be done, but she was intending to, like, wear at least some makeup today. (She’s gonna be in public in a major city, and with the whole Jeff thing happening, she doesn’t want to look like a total bum on the off chance that someone snaps her picture.)

“Okay, whatever,” Fatin says. “I mean, I’m almost done.”

Dot snorts, “Yeah, no you aren’t,” then motions for Leah to head into the bathroom before she returns to the couch with Mateo.

(“Seriously, it’s not cool for you to check my friends out.”

“I’m not checking her out!”

Dot laughs. “I know, man. I’m just giving you shit.”)

“Sorry,” Leah says, “but I kind of left all my shit in here.”

“No, yeah, that was my fault for assuming you were done,” Fatin replies. “Take your time.”

And as Leah shuts the door behind her, Fatin sticks her head out of the shower curtain. (Fatin does not seem overly concerned about whether the shower curtain is fully covering the rest of her body, and Leah keeps her eyes squarely locked on Fatin’s face.) “Why’d you close the door?” Fatin questions. “Because, you know, it’d be totally wrong of you to join me when Dot and Mateo are right out there.”

“Jesus, Fatin,” Leah laughs. (Because what else would she ever expect Fatin to say?) “I closed the door so Dot wouldn’t hear me say that her boyfriend is hot.” (And that’s sort of a lie. Mateo is hot. But it’s not why Leah closed the door. No, Leah closed the door to get away from the pressure of the idea that Dot and Mateo are going to hear anything that she or Fatin might say, because Leah knows that by saying Mateo is hot, Fatin can and will start a conversation off of that. And she does.) So as Leah gets dressed and ties her hair up and rushes through a minimal makeup process – mostly to cover the bags under her eyes and maybe make her look a little less dead – she talks easily with Fatin. Like old times.

At least until the water shuts off and Fatin gives Leah a five second heads up that she’s coming out. (“In my full glory” are her exact words.) Leah barely registers the meaning behind that before the shower curtain snaps back and Fatin’s stepping out, buck ass naked. (And boy, does Leah get an eyeful. Not that Fatin ever really left much to the imagination on the island, but this is – anyway, Leah turns around _so_ fast. Last thing she needs is Fatin harassing her for the rest of the day for staring.)

“I warned you,” Fatin says, and then she gets a towel around herself and brushes past Leah, leaves the bathroom, starts bickering with Dot. (Like nothing even happened.)

*

The day is a fucking blur. Fatin and Dot really commit to cramming in as much shit as possible, and Leah feels like she’s just along for the ride. (And so is Mateo, honestly.) It’s Dot, of all people, who pitches the idea of going to a club after sundown, and since Fatin doesn’t argue with her, no one does, and suddenly Leah finds herself in a sea of bodies with just Fatin. (After she throws back three shots of tequila, because Leah knows firsthand how horrible it is to be in a club totally sober.) And when Fatin grabs her hand and pulls her to the dancefloor – well, the tequila works its magic.

Honestly, Leah kind of needs this. Just some time to be free, to dance with a friend (the hot friend Leah still kinda has a thing for, the very same one that kept Leah from losing every shred of her sanity six years ago) and not think about the impending shit storm that will be Jeff’s trial. And it’s very easy to let herself be distracted from the messy aspects of her life. Fatin dances effortlessly, surrounded by her usual air of confidence, and the tequila shuts off the part of Leah’s brain that might otherwise be insecure.

Fatin checks her out again. More than once. More than twice. It’s, like, over and over and _over_ , Fatin’s eyes are drawn to Leah. (Fatin’s eyes really don’t stray. There are all kinds of hot guys around them. There are all kinds of hot guys staring at Fatin. Shit, there are _women_ staring at Fatin. And it doesn’t even seem like Fatin notices any them. As much as Fatin has always made a show of how many guys she sleeps with on the regular, Leah knows – if only from spending months trapped on an island with Fatin and six other women – that Fatin is _not_ straight by any means.) Really, Fatin cannot seem to keep her eyes on Leah’s face. And there’s one moment where Leah catches Fatin very blatantly staring at her chest, and maybe Leah would laugh if she was sober. (And if there was anything remotely funny about it, because this kind of feels like an opportunity that Leah wants to seize.)

But the second after Leah’s hands land at Fatin’s hips, Fatin declares that she needs air, and _shit_. When Leah asks her if she’s okay (Fatin only had two shots – she’s not anywhere near, like, getting sick), Fatin feeds her an obvious lie about getting claustrophobic, but Leah lets it slide. (And the way Fatin says, “You got _moves_ , Rilke,” might make up for Fatin rushing them out of that club as soon as Leah touched her. But then _that_ moment is ruined, too, by Dot and Mateo stumbling out of the club, looking about ready to fuck right then and there. And Leah just cannot catch a break, can she?)

Leah just barely keeps Fatin from trying to drive them back, and Fatin totally grabs her ass when she slides the keys into Leah’s back pocket. Totally. The fact that she denies it is ridiculous. And through the tequila haze, Leah finds herself admitting to Fatin that she’s going to testify against Jeff. The way Fatin reacts when Leah tells her that Michelle’s going to support her through it (which is, like, half a lie – Michelle _wants_ to be with her every step of the way, but Leah keeps blowing her off) tells Leah everything she needs to know.

“What, are you two like…?” Fatin questions, except she doesn’t finish the question with words. She makes a _V_ with each of her hands, shoves them together while raising her eyebrows suggestively, and Leah can’t help but to bust out laughing, shoving at Fatin.

“Oh my God, _no_. We’re just friends. Jesus!”

“She called you _Lee_ ,” Fatin says. “Excuse me for thinking maybe something was going on between you. And there’s no way that bitch is straight.”

“She just shortens everyone’s name, no matter what it is,” Leah dismisses. (She gives, like, a half a second’s worth of thought to admitting her suspicions about Michelle to Fatin.) “But I am pretty sure she has a thing for me. I don’t know. I’m afraid to ask.”

“Oh, she totally does,” Fatin agrees, and she gets serious suddenly. “You know, if you wanted me to go out there to, like, show support or something…I would do it. Like, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

And even though Leah initially pitches reasons why Fatin shouldn’t make that offer, it’s so hard not to just cave.

*

Leah knows that if she asks Fatin to spend another night in the bed with her that Fatin will say yes. (And she does.) Leah just doesn’t know what she was expecting to do _after_ Fatin says yes. (“Consent is super important,” Fatin says, and she winks at Leah, smirking, and she waltzes off into her bedroom. And she seems as nonchalant as usual.) Leah heads into the bathroom, wipes the makeup from her face, lets her hair down. She swaps her low cut shirt for a baggy T-shirt, pushes her glasses back onto her face.

Fatin checks her out as she walks into the bedroom. (And Leah starts to think that if Fatin was going to make a move, it would’ve been in the club, and Fatin rejected that possibility, so what’s with all the goddamn staring still?) So maybe Leah picks a fight on purpose, just to push Fatin’s buttons a little. (It’s hard not to notice how Fatin doesn’t like to say _the island_ – and by extension, neither does Dot, at least around Fatin. Leah’s almost positive that she’s had the most therapy out of all eight of them, and she’s almost positive that Fatin has had the least. Literally, like, the bare minimum that was forced upon them all. Leah knows the island is a much sorer subject for Fatin than it is for her. Leah has reconciled her shit. And Fatin and Dot have simply used each other as their crutch and shoved everything else aside, so Leah calls Fatin’s ass out.)

There’s really only one thing Fatin says that catches Leah off guard. (“You wouldn’t have even made it off that fucking floating rock if it wasn’t for me and Dorothy.”) Leah hesitates, tries to think of a way to deny it, but _shit_ , Fatin is right. (Well, they all only made it off of that island because of Dot, so it was more Fatin that got Leah home in semi-decent shape.) Fatin was the only person on that island that even got close to understanding what Leah was going through – or, at least, Fatin tried to understand. She listened. She was there, every single time that Leah needed her to be. (And Leah knew it, at the time. She didn’t connect the dots very well until after she was back, until after hours in therapy, because on the island, she couldn’t completely free herself of her theories, couldn’t look past it to see what was right in front of her.)

“You’re right,” Leah admits. “I would’ve completely spun out without you.”

“Exactly,” Fatin says, and the look on her face is so damn smug that Leah’s almost stupid enough to lean over and kiss it off her. (Because she definitely wants to. She knows she wants to, without a single doubt in her mind. But no. She’s going to wait. She’s going to get Fatin to do it for her.)

“Like you would’ve done much better without me there,” Leah scoffs.

Fatin’s eyebrows raise. “Excuse me?”

“Please. Your toothbrush died and it sent you into crisis mode.” (That is a little bit of a low blow, but it’s also super fucking true.)

“That toothbrush was the only thing keeping me sane.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

Fatin hesitates. “Of course not.”

(Leah is starting to think that Fatin really isn’t going to do anything, even though her eyes _still_ cannot stay on Leah’s face. Even though Fatin has wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, like, four times in the last two minutes. She knows that getting Fatin worked up should get her to _do_ something. And Fatin can’t honestly think Leah isn’t into her, right? Leah _literally asked to sleep in Fatin’s bed even though Fatin could’ve easily slept in Dot’s by herself_. Fatin _cannot_ be that dense.) “There’s no reason to pretend, Fatin. It’s just me. And I was there, remember? I lived through all that shit with you,” Leah says.

Their eyes lock. Leah smirks, just ever so slightly to taunt Fatin, and it _works_. Fatin grabs Leah by the front of her shirt, closes the gap between them, and it’s only moments after their lips touch that Leah moans into Fatin’s mouth. (She can’t stop herself. Isn’t willing to.) She slides one hand into Fatin’s hair, grabs her by the waist with the other, pulls Fatin down on top of her. She locks her legs around Fatin, tugs at her shirt before Fatin shifts back.

“Leah,” she breathes. “What are we doing?”

“What we should’ve done six fucking years ago.” (Maybe just five? Doesn’t matter. Close enough.)

“No, I – I shouldn’t have done that,” Fatin says.

“I don’t see you moving away.” (And Fatin still doesn’t move, doesn’t give any indication of wanting to move.)

“I should’ve at least asked –”

Leah rolls her eyes. “You can ask next time.”

Slowly, Fatin smiles, and she doesn’t stop Leah from pulling her shirt off this time. “I thought we were arguing,” Fatin says.

“We can argue later.” (But Leah kinda doesn’t care about the argument. At least, not right now.)

Fatin nods. She hesitates a moment, staring Leah in the eye. “Keep the glasses on, okay?” Fatin says.

Leah grins. “Oh, I _knew_ you had a thing for them.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

*

Leah isn’t sure what to expect after Fatin gets her fourth orgasm of the night in. She kind of thinks maybe Fatin’s the type to, like, leave the bed (even though it’s hers) because she can’t bring herself to spend the night with someone she fucked. Or maybe Fatin will just roll over, act like nothing happened. Leah doesn’t really expect Fatin to drop her head onto her chest, fling an arm around her waist.

“You cuddle after sex?” Leah mumbles.

“No.”

“Then what is this?”

“A special occasion?” Fatin pauses. “Do you want me to move?”

“No,” Leah says. She strokes her fingers through Fatin’s hair, finally reaches up with her free hand to remove her glasses and drop them on the nightstand. “No, not at all. I’m just – surprised, I guess.”

“Yeah, I mean, believe it or not – you’re not so bad,” Fatin says.

Leah chuckles. “Thanks?”

“You know, except when you pick a fight right before fucking.”

“We could’ve avoided that entire argument if you would’ve just made a move on me in the club.”

“ _What_?” Fatin exclaims. She lifts her head off Leah’s chest to look her in the eye. “Seriously?”

“I was starting to think you weren’t into me,” Leah admits.

Fatin hesitates. “I wasn’t sure you were into _me_.”

Leah rolls her eyes. “God, how could anyone resist _Fatin Jadmani_?”

“Oh, shut up.” Fatin drops her head back down to Leah’s chest. “I’m surprised you don’t have a thing for that Michelle bitch.”

“Oh my God. I don’t.”

“What? The tattoos don’t do it for you?”

“I didn’t say she isn’t hot. I said I’m not into her.” Leah inhales deeply, lets her fingers trail from the back of Fatin’s head down to the center of her back, fingertips lingering over the anchor tattoo that Fatin shares with Dot. (Leah doesn’t have to think too hard about what that tattoo symbolizes for them.) “That picture,” Leah says, “that you have over your desk. The one with all of us – the Unsinkable Eight.”

“Oh, ew. Don’t call us that,” Fatin says. “Just say, like, _our friends_.”

“Whatever. I have it on my phone. That day at the hotel. You know, after the trial?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Fatin says. “Mostly. I drank a lot later that night.”

“That was when I knew,” Leah says.

“Knew what?”

Leah smiles, shrugs as much as possible with Fatin lying half on top of her. “That I was into you.”

“Wait, what?” Fatin says. “ _Five_ years ago? You’ve known for five years?”

Leah hums. “I was too afraid to do anything about it back then,” she confesses. “I mean, we don’t have to talk about the island. Everything I felt there was so fucking confusing. But after, once we were back – I mean, I knew. But I didn’t want to fuck things up, but then you left the Bay and moved in with Dot and…I don’t know. I guess I just let my opportunity slip away.”

“You should’ve just said something five years ago,” Fatin mutters. “Or shit, anytime within the last five years.”

“Why?” Leah questions. “I mean, even now I’m not sure –” She cuts herself off.

“What? Not sure if it’s a mistake or not?” Fatin finishes.

Leah hesitates. “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret it. At all. But I’m not leaving the Bay, and it doesn’t seem like you’d be willing to up and leave L.A. and Dot. And I would never ask you to. But I figured if I can testify against Jeff that I could, like, make a fucking move while I was out here. I didn’t want to waste what might’ve been, like, my last opportunity.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. Even though you made me make the move.”

Leah grins. “Worth it. You know, Michelle is gonna be so jealous. She thinks you’re the hottest member of the Unsinkable Eight.”

Fatin scoffs. “Because bitch, I am. No contest.”

They laugh wearily, and they both fall asleep before long. (And Leah doesn’t even really mind when Dot walks in on them in the morning.)

*

“I’m just loading the Jeep up now,” Fatin informs. (Leah hears a door slam shut on the other end of the line.)

“Wow,” Leah says. “The Jeep, huh?”

“Yeah, I know. Dot’s letting me drive her baby all the way up to the Bay by myself. God, everyone’s gonna think I’m a lesbian.”

Leah laughs, ignores the glare Michelle shoots over her shoulder at her. “Close enough, right?” Leah says.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Fatin says. “And just so you know, I’ve already booked myself a hotel room. Five stars, baby. Treating myself this week, so if you’d rather take a vacation in a fancy-ass hotel instead of hanging with your –”

“They’re my friends,” Leah warns.

“Fine. With your _friends_ , you’re more than welcome.”

“You could’ve just stayed here,” Leah says.

(“No, she couldn’t,” Michelle says, and Leah throws one of the couch’s pillows at her.)

“Yeah, I don’t want to watch Michelle drool over you for a week straight,” Fatin replies. “Or give me the side-eye for _stealing her girl_ or what the fuck ever.”

“You sound jealous.”

“I – I am not jealous,” Fatin says pointedly. “I am…territorial?”

“You haven’t even asked me out yet.”

“Relax,” Fatin dismisses. “I’ll get there. But come stay in the hotel with me.”

“What? Do you have, like, a whole plan? You could ask me out right now, you know,” Leah says. “I’d say yes.”

“You’re no fun.”

“You don’t have to do a whole thing,” Leah tells her. “I’m kind of over, like, grand gestures.”

“No grand gestures,” Fatin promises. “But Dorothy _did_ just give me some major news.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mateo took a job in the Bay, so she wants to move out there with me.”

Leah sits up straight on the couch, ignoring the way Michelle’s still staring at her. “No way,” Leah says. “You’re serious.”

“Dead fucking ass, baby. So _please_ just say you’ll spend the week in the fancy ass hotel with me so I can start house hunting and move your ass out of that, like, pseudo-fucking-sorority house.”

“Yes,” Leah blurts. “Okay, yes.”

“And does this mean you’ll be my girlfriend, too?” Fatin asks.

Leah grins. (Grins even wider when Michelle rolls her eyes, snaps her textbook shut, and leaves the living room.) “Yes,” Leah confirms.

Fatin exhales in relief. “Okay, good.”

“You knew I’d say yes,” Leah laughs. “I _just_ told you I would.”

“Yeah, well, now it’s, like, officially official and I’m totally posting it on Instagram as soon as I get there.”

“Okay, Fatin,” Leah agrees.

“And announcing it on Twitter. Updating my Facebook status. Putting it on my Snap story. This should make headlines.”

They hang up because Fatin has to drive from L.A. to East Bay, and before she arrives, Leah casually drops to all her friends the fact that they are now _officially_ dating. (And everyone except Michelle seems thrilled, but no surprise there.)

Leah hopes that Fatin’s right about news of them dating making headlines. Maybe it’ll detract from the headlines about her taking the stand to testify against Jeff tomorrow.

*

Fatin comes to pick her up in Dot’s Jeep (“Lesbian truck,” Fatin reminds), but Fatin actually takes the time to come inside, to meet all of Leah’s friends. (Leah would’ve been fine if she hadn’t, but it’s a nice gesture.)

“Oh, I remember you,” Fatin tells Michelle. “Yeah, I like the whole tattoo thing you’ve got going on.”

Michelle’s eyebrows raise, and she barely manages to say thank you before Fatin’s turning to shake Penelope’s hand and introduce herself as Leah’s girlfriend, even though she just (very smugly) said it to Michelle, too. (“Yeah, Penelope is literally on crack,” Leah tells Fatin later, and Fatin busts out laughing and says, “Yeah, I’m not at all surprised about that.”)

“You’re, like, a lot nicer than I would’ve guessed just from seeing you, like, in the media,” Victoria says, pointing her finger at Fatin.

“And we knew you were hot, but you’re a lot hotter in person,” Avery adds.

“And that’s enough,” Leah says loudly. “Thank you guys. I’ll see you all later. Let’s go, Fatin.”

“No, wait,” Fatin says, grabbing Leah’s arm and stopping her from heading for the front door. “I like them.”

*

Fatin isn’t allowed in the courtroom the next day. Well, she could be, but Leah asks her not to come in, so Fatin waits outside. Leah can’t fathom the idea of spilling everything in front of Fatin. She doesn’t even care about all of the other people in the room. (Knowing Fatin’s waiting right outside for her is enough. But she can’t say it to Fatin’s face, can’t imagine looking at Fatin as she gives the rundown of everything that went on between her and Jeff when she was a teenager. It’s bad enough that _he’s_ here. Has to be here, obviously. It’s his fucking trial. And she looks right at him as she speaks and feels nothing but rage, not just for herself but for the nine other women here with her.) She knows Fatin will be able to find out what was said, if she wants. (Fatin won’t go looking, though. She’ll wait until Leah’s ready to tell it herself, if she ever wants to.)

Fatin’s there the second Leah steps out of the courtroom, flanked by her lawyers who immediately shift aside to make room for Fatin to walk with them. (And shield both of them from the press, as much as possible, on their walk to the Jeep.)

“How’d it go?” Fatin asks carefully.

“She did great,” one of the lawyers says.

“There’s no way this fucker isn’t going down,” another lawyer agrees.

“I think she just sealed the deal,” the third lawyer adds.

Leah locks eyes with Fatin, and she knows Fatin knows exactly what she’s thinking. ( _In the car. I’ll tell you in the car._ ) Fatin nods, waits until they’re both in the Jeep. (Fatin opens the door to the backseat, and Leah does not argue. Fatin just knows.) Leah takes her glasses off, tucks them into her bag. Inhales shakily. Leah sobs into Fatin’s chest until she can’t breathe, and Fatin just holds on. (Doesn’t ask any questions.)

“We should go,” Leah whispers, shit, probably twenty minutes later?

“Okay,” Fatin agrees. “I just have to make one quick stop on the way back to the hotel.”

Fatin stops at a small grocery store, comes back with two plastic bags filled with ice cream, says something about watching Netflix and spending the rest of the night in bed.

(And that’s exactly what they do.)

They don’t watch the news coverage of Jeff’s trial. Fatin sets her phone on the table and leaves it there for the rest of the night. (After she texts Dot that she’s “going off the grid” until tomorrow. Leah doesn’t need to know that Dot’s response is _that’s cool, I’m gonna be banging Mateo all night anyway_ , but Fatin reads it to her anyway. Dot also has encouraging words for Leah, and they make Leah tear up, so she cracks open the first pint of ice cream.) Later, Leah can’t remember what movies they spend the night watching (probably partly because she falls asleep with her head in Fatin’s lap).

*

Leah doesn’t really have strong feelings about the house one way or the other, but Fatin’s really excited about it (and Dot and Mateo would be able to move into the house three doors down, and Fatin is _also_ excited about that, and Leah will admit that having Dot so close by is ideal for multiple reasons), so Leah goes along with it. (After three months on an island, any house will do just fine as long as there’s indoor plumbing and electricity.) Moving in is, like, a whole ordeal, with Fatin trying to micromanage the movers while Leah just tries to stay out of the way. And Fatin complains about the color of the walls and the countertops in the kitchen, even though they already have set dates to take care of all of Fatin’s issues with the place.

But as they’re lying in bed on their first official night in their new house ( _their_ house, like, the two of them, _together_ – like Leah _owns_ a _house_ with her _girlfriend_ ), and Fatin won’t stop bitching about how the walls are such an ugly shade of yellow, Leah just commits to knocking it off their list the next day. (She was supposed to meet Michelle for coffee at the library or whatever, but that’s easy enough to reschedule.) So as Fatin spends the day harassing Dot and Mateo as they move in, Leah spends the day painting their entire bedroom a color that Fatin won’t bitch about.

Fatin’s pissed for, like, half a second when she comes home that evening and discovers Leah spent all day painting. (“You didn’t seriously do all this yourself!”) She gets over it pretty quickly, swipes her thumb through a smear of paint on Leah’s cheek.

“You painted over that ugly-ass yellow, just for me,” Fatin says fondly. “Is this what love looks like?”

Leah rolls her eyes. “Since I painted the entire room,” she says, “you can move all the furniture back into place.”

Fatin grins, drags Leah into a hug, locks her arms around Leah’s neck. “Nah. I’ll ask Mateo to do it for us.”

Leah laughs into Fatin’s shoulder, slips her hands into the back pockets of Fatin’s jeans. “They’re all moved in?” Leah asks.

“Oh, yeah. Dot’s just stressing over what the most efficient use of their space might be. She’s got Mateo moving the couch into twenty different spots.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to come over here to rearrange all our furniture, too, then.”

“Not at all, but he’ll do it,” Fatin says. Then she lets out a low whistle. “You really painted our whole goddamn bedroom by yourself, huh?”

“We already established that.”

Fatin inhales sharply. “I think I love you.”

Leah laughs, presses her forehead against Fatin’s neck. “You think?”

Fatin hums. “Yeah. I’m not sure yet. I’ll get back to you.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“You love me,” Fatin dismisses.

“I do.”

“See? Now I feel like a dick,” Fatin says.

Leah pulls back, just enough to look Fatin in the eye (leaves her hands in Fatin’s back pockets). “Then just say it back,” Leah says.

Fatin smirks. “Make me.”

*

Her heart stalls when she hears the word.

_Guilty_.

He’s _guilty_.

Fatin almost breaks her hand, she’s squeezing it so hard, and Fatin is literally crying, but Leah…can’t. Or won’t. Doesn’t want to. Hearing that he’s guilty is all the vindication that she needs, and even though Leah feels something (a lot of things, actually – relief, excitement, and still, anger, and a bunch of other shit she can’t identify yet), she doesn’t feel the need to express it. And when they lead him out of the courtroom in handcuffs, Leah’s eyes lock with his, just for a moment. (And he looks rough. Jail certainly hasn’t been doing him any favors. But, Leah will admit, bright orange is his color.) She stares Jeff Galanis dead in the eye, hopefully for the last time ever, and she doesn’t flinch. He looks away first, and he disappears from view, out of Leah’s life.

And Leah can breathe.

“Ouch, Fatin.”

(Fatin eases up on her hand.)

“Sorry,” Fatin says, swiping at her eyes with her free hand. “I’m just so –”

Leah doesn’t let her finish. She kisses her, even though this place is, like, crawling with fucking reporters and cameras are flashing, and they’re probably gonna be a five second story on the celeb trash sites for kissing after Jeff’s guilty verdict. (But it’s finally _over_ , and he’s _guilty_ , and Leah can stop worrying.)

“Let’s go home,” Leah says.

(Fatin holds her hand on their way to the Jeep – not Dot’s Jeep, _Fatin’s_ Jeep, because after spending a week driving Dot’s, she decided she needed one of her own. Dot won’t let her hear the end of it.)

They get home, and Fatin gets music going, and she refuses to stop dancing even though Leah’s trying to finish a paper. (Fatin doesn’t get it, but Leah’s life has, like, realigned itself or something. With that heavy weight lifted off her chest, she can fucking focus. Besides, she was struck with inspiration for it or whatever and wants to at least jot down her ideas.)

“Dance with me,” Fatin complains.

“Later. Let me just finish this.”

“You can write later.”

Leah doesn’t bother to say she’s just outlining her ideas, doesn’t bother to say she’s planning on emailing her professor to say it’s gonna be late (because she put it off, not knowing what to write until after hearing _guilty_ ). Only Dot and Mateo’s arrival gets Fatin’s dancing to stop, and Leah isn’t surprised that they’re engaged. (Mateo let it slip to her a couple weeks ago when he got the ring, and he made her swear not to tell another soul, and obviously she didn’t because if she told Fatin, she would’ve spoiled it for Dot.) So Leah types up her last few ideas, writes an email to her professor (sprinkles in the fact that she’s from the Unsinkable Eight and she just helped get Jeff Galanis locked up and one of her close friends got engaged, so sorry, but the paper’s gonna be fucking late), and heads into the kitchen to cut cake and pop champagne.

Fatin shoves a handful of cake into Leah’s mouth, mostly misses and rubs frosting across her face. Totally on purpose, and Leah laughs so hard she can’t breathe, somehow laughs even harder when Fatin pops the bottle of champagne and accidentally empties half of the bottle’s contents onto their floor.

“Hey! I paid good money for that bottle and you just lost half of it to the floor,” Dot says, but her smile is wide, and they all get a good laugh out of watching Fatin chug the rest.

“And if you want some, I guess you’ll be licking it off the floor,” Fatin replies. “Good champagne, though. Thank you.”

“I guess we’re gonna be toasting with something else,” Leah says, and Mateo produces a bottle of tequila seemingly out of nowhere.

“Don’t say anything sappy,” Dot warns. “Fatin already cried all her makeup off in that courtroom. She doesn’t need to do it again.”

“Rude.”

So they toast with tequila shots, and Leah wipes the cake off her face, wipes the champagne off the floor. Leah gets her revenge, smears a handful of frosting across Fatin’s face when she’s least expecting it. And the death glare Leah gets in return sends both her and Dot into hysterics.

“If I didn’t like you so much, I’d fucking kill you,” Fatin says, but she can’t keep a straight face as Leah and Dot push at each other and laugh until their faces turn red. “We’re gonna have a serious talk about this later.”

(They never do.)

“I think –” Dot wheezes, pausing to collect herself and clear her throat, “I think we need to have a serious talk about how you called me a lesbian for driving a pickup truck, then turned around and shacked up with a woman _and_ bought yourself that exact same truck.”

“Yeah,” Leah agrees, pulling her glasses off her face to dab at her eyes, “I think we _should_ talk about that.”

“Oh, fuck you both,” Fatin says. “It’s a nice truck.”

*

“You okay?”

Leah tears her eyes away from her laptop, glances down over at Fatin, sprawled out on her side of the bed, wearing nothing. (Typical. Fatin recently decided she’s just going to sleep naked after they have sex, even if Leah needs to focus on something. Like that paper she got an extension for.)

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Leah questions.

“You’re finishing a paper at two in the morning.”

Leah smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, I kinda kept putting it off even though I knew exactly what I wanted to write.” She shrugs. “What can I say? I get…distracted.”

Fatin grins. “Maybe that’s my fault, huh?”

“Just a little.”

She can feel Fatin’s eyes on the side of her face, studying her. (Jeff was sentenced earlier today. He’ll be locked away for a long time, constantly monitored whenever he ends up getting out. Leah doesn’t know if she could honestly ask for anything better.)

“You sure you’re okay?” Fatin presses.

“I’m great,” Leah answers, honestly. “I just – really need to finish this.”

“Okay,” Fatin says. “I’m gonna sleep.”

“I can leave if –”

“You’re fine.”

“Okay,” Leah says. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Fatin replies, pulling the sheets up to her chest. She turns her back to Leah, exhales. “I love you.”

Leah fingers go still, hovering over her keyboard. She looks over at Fatin. (Can’t see her face, obviously. But she sounded very nonchalant.)

“Keep typing,” Fatin mumbles. “The sound’s kind of soothing.”

Leah smiles to herself, shakes her head. She closes her laptop, sets it aside with her glasses. (She can just finish this shit in the morning.) Leah settles behind Fatin, loops her arm around Fatin’s waist. (Fatin links their fingers together, rests their hands against her stomach.) Leah nuzzles her nose against the back of Fatin’s neck, closes her eyes.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love you all. Thank you so much for all your support. Leave me your thoughts, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!


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